


Poacher

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Deal with a Devil, Eye Gouging, Gen, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curufin makes a risky deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poacher

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spook Me ficathon with Shapeshifter as the chosen creature. Also (vaguely) used [this](http://s879.photobucket.com/user/spook_me/media/Spook%20Me%202015/tumblr_muz92qvZJp1qbrgt8o1_500_zpsigwfpyuq.jpg.html) and [this](http://s879.photobucket.com/user/spook_me/media/Spook%20Me%202015/3d93050ff56d6d9b26b5f01ba97fbd16_zps6a9isf0z.jpg.html) as inspiration.

It all began when Celegorm rescued a wolf pup whose pack had been slaughtered by marauding orcs. A rather large party had managed to elude the vigilance of the outposts stationed near the Pass of Aglon, sneaking along steep mountain paths into the vale behind it. 

The orcs had been stopped before they could reach farming areas, but not before they had laid waste to the land they crossed. They had set fire to the forest at the foot of the mountains and poisoned the river which ran through it, and killed every single living thing they encountered. 

Celegorm found the injured pup next to the mangled body of his mother when Curufin and he went to assess the damage in the area. The little wolf was scared but Celegorm's cooing patiently prevailed over his fear. Celegorm took him to the encampment, nursed his broken paw and fed him with goat milk mixed with warmed elk meat. During the day, the pup was left in Huan's company and care, but whenever Celegorm had the time he would play with him, rolling around in the dirt next to the tent where Curufin and he slept.

It was there that on a dark, cloudy evening a large wolf came up to them. The animal's approach was so stealthy that Celegorm and Curufin didn't notice it until it stood right before the tent, and with the same noiselessness and abruptness it morphed into a singularly tall woman. Her hair was the same colour of the pup's fur, and she wore what looked like a wolf-skin on her otherwise naked body.

“Thank you for taking care of my little one,” she said, her voice sounding like the rumble of the wind through thick treetops, so that both Celegorm and Curufin felt a shiver run down their spines – not exactly of dread; it was the same sort of awe they had felt, as children, at the foot of the Pelóri. 

The pup flailed his paws happily in Celegorm's arms.

The woman extended both hands towards them, and the pup broke into an excited bark.

The merry peal of it sounded at odds with the situation, but Celegorm understood what the pup was saying, and after a brief hesitation handed him over to the wolf-woman.

The woman took him and smiled. Her light golden eyes rested on the little creature, examining it carefully, tenderly. “I will recompense you for this,” she said looking back up at Celegorm, then morphed into a wolf again and left with the pup held lovingly in her jaws. 

No-one else in the camp seemed to have seen her, a circumstance which deepened the brothers' bewilderment and made Curufin exceptionally wary. It was well-known that Morgoth had numerous spies, often taking the shape of common animals, but Celegorm was adamant that it was impossible that the woman could have been one of them. It would have made no sense for her to manifest herself to them, and he maintained that he could tell real animals from spies. He could speak to them, he could sense their fear. The pup had witnessed his family's death at the hands of orcs as many of their own had.

Curufin didn't have any such ability, and whenever Celegorm was away, on a hunting trip or on patrol of the border areas, he had no way to tell which animals were true animals, and which spirits under false pretences, much less discern their intentions.

His misgivings seemed to take a definite shape when he became aware of a cat that followed him, a rather big one, black with patches of red scattered all over its fur. He only spotted it once or twice a day at first, loitering about the workshops or in one of the courtyards, but over time it became evident that the cat was after him, trailing him quite blatantly, silent as is the way of cats, but with its light yellow-green eyes glued to him.

Sometimes, the cat would sit on the windowsill of the forge, and observe him while he worked.

There were times the cat simply lay curled up in a corner of the main courtyard, but Curufin knew it was watching through eyes narrowed to slits.

It returned even if chased away.

On a day in early autumn the rain fell gently and the cat hid among some piled-up logs. Curufin kept going back and forth across the courtyard of the castle to sort through the crates which had just arrived from Thargelion. Celebrimbor was working in the forge, making new swords for the armies and Curufin's own assistants were all helping him. Curufin needed to be sure that everything he had ordered was there, particularly the raw metals he had asked Caranthir to buy from the Dwarves. The cat followed him. He didn't notice it at first, his attention entirely taken by the supplies, matching the crates with the lists that accompanied them. But as the day wore on, and his energy with it, the cat's haunting presence became impossible to ignore.

Curufin tried to lead it astray once he was done, setting out at a brisk pace towards the little lake that lay at the back of the fortified town. He only made it to the high walls which surrounded it. He turned to look behind him, relieved and yet surprised that the cat wasn't there, but when he faced forward again there was a man standing in his path. He instantly knew it wasn't an elf or a human being, and his hand went to the dagger he always kept at his side, even in the heart of Himlad.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair and eyes that glowed a bright yellow under a wide-brimmed cone-shaped hat. He noticed the movement of Curufin's hand, and smirked.

“So...” he intoned, in a deep, penetrating voice, “you are the one who saved one of Thû's pups?”

It took Curufin a few moments to remember the young wolf and the wolf-woman who had come to reclaim him. But Celegorm wasn't there this time. “I might.”

“You might?”

The man inclined his head in puzzlement, and crossed the space separating them. It wasn't properly a walk. He seemed more to glide through air, leaving no footprints on the damp ground. He loomed over Curufin, almost touching him – his closeness wasn't unpleasant, but unsettling – then he bent down, his feline eyes fixing on Curufin's face. 

“Oh, I like your face,” he said, lifting both hands towards Curufin's cheeks. Hands with long slim fingers that ended in whetted claws.

Curufin swept them away with his right hand.

The man laughed, baring sharp teeth, and disappeared, engulfed by the air as if he had been fog.

Curufin leant against the moss-covered wall for a moment, then hastened to go back to the keep. 

After that, there wasn't just one cat anymore, but a whole host of them, shadowing him wherever he went, even inside the bedroom he shared with his wife and Celegorm. He ordered one of his personal attendants to chase them away, but the woman looked at him bemusedly and asked _'what cats?'_. 

It was some days before the spirit himself returned. Curufin didn't doubt he would, and apart from a momentary startlement, he didn't feel any true surprise when the spirit appeared out of thin air while he was in the wine-cellar, alone. He was in fact rather relieved. He wanted to ask the spirit to put a stop to the persecution of the ghostly cats.

“I know what you are trying to do,” the spirit said before he had a chance to speak, crouching down on top of one of the biggest barrels right next to the door. “You want to defeat the Dark King in North.”

“And?” Curufin returned, trying to keep as much distance from the spirit as the narrow space allowed. 

The spirit smirked. “I would be glad if you did. But I do not think you can, Curufinwë.”

Hearing his name, his true name, his father's name, uttered in the deep tones of the other's voice startled Curufin anew, and made him realise that he was being addressed in Quenya. He tried to gauge the spirit's intentions. He couldn't see much of his face under his hat. His eyes were shadowed, and his lips were curled in a cryptic smile.

“My business is my own,” he firmly said. 

The spirit hopped off the barrel and stretched, flexing his limbs and craning his neck. He crossed the cellar slowly, and cornered Curufin against the wall. His eyes seemed singularly large, the pupils completely blown. “I could...help you.”

Slipping away was not an option. Curufin stood his ground. “You would? Why?”

“I told you, I like you.”

“For all I know, you are one of Moringotto's very spies.”

The spirit's reaction was as violent as it was unpredictable. His eyes flashed in wrath, his nostrils flared and he drew so close to Curufin that their bodies were almost squeezed together.

“To lump _me_ with such vile creatures!” he yelled.

Curufin's heart gave a lurch of fear and he tried to flatten himself against the wall. “...what are you?”

“I am one of the true dwellers of Arda. You...Elves, Mortals, Dwarves, Valar, Orcs...all walk on Arda. I _am_ Arda,” the spirit spat and grasped Curufin's chin in a painful grip. His touch was cold, unforgiving. “You are all pests to me, from the lowliest stinking orc to the mightiest of the heaven-borne Ainur.”

“Then-...why would you help me?” 

The spirit stared at him fixedly. “I told you. I like you. I like your eyes...I like the fire within them. And I would not mind if the Dark King were to disappear, and his poisoning of the land would cease,” he said, letting go of Curufin's chin. “If you want my help come to the knoll next to the crossroads, the one with the aspen grove, tonight.”

“For what purp -?”

The spirit put a long, strong finger over Curufin's lips. “I shall tell you in due time.”

Curufin still tried to hold him back. “What is your name?”

The spirit adjusted the hat on his head, tilting it slightly back. “You can call me...Tevildo.”

“Tevildo? Someone who claims to like me?”

“I said I like _you_ , not everybody else. I will be waiting, Curufinwë Atarincë Fëanárion.”

*

Curufin slipped out of the castle with the excuse that he wanted to take a walk. He made his way across the plain to the south of the town, towards the road which linked Himlad to Thargelion, in the tranquil twilight. He slowly ascended the tree-covered knoll, leaving the mist that curdled in the depressions behind. 

A line of red still flared on the horizon, but soon the sun would be gone, and gloom would take over the forest. Shadows stretched long, spindly on the ground. The trees seemed to him all alive, all secret eyes watching him. Forest spirits. There had been some in Valinor too, who had chosen to follow the Valar out of Middle-Earth, but he had never met any. Celegorm probably had, though he had never talked about them. 

He reached the top of the knoll when the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, and a biting chill began to spread in the air. A screech owl sounded its call from somewhere overhead. The sound seemed to him oddly soothing, bringing with it memories of a happy childhood spent travelling from place to place in the wilderness with his father, but his mounting unease could only temporarily be stalled. 

He sat down on a large rock, drawing his mantle tighter about him. The forest seemed to close in on him too, and an unpleasant dampness crawled from the ground up his feet and legs. When sunlight was completely gone and he was about to pull out a lamp from the folds of his mantle, he became aware of several pairs of eyes, glowing in the dark, among the trees and shrubs, all focused on him. The cats, though he couldn't have said if they were the ghostly ones that had been tailing him or real ones.

He unscreened the lamp all the same and set it on the ground next to him.

Tevildo appeared in the form of a black and red cat which rubbed itself snugly against his legs, before taking on the human shape he had manifested with before.

“I am happy you came,” he said, bared white teeth as luminous as his eyes. 

Curufin swiftly stood from the rock, drawing himself up in a semblance of dauntlessness. “What is your proposal?” he said, and took a bold step forward. His legs were half-numb with cold, but he tried to ignore the discomfort and forced himself to stay still. He didn't flinch when Tevildo's right hand reached out to pet his cheek. 

“No beating around the bush,” Tevildo chuckled. His hand slid up Curufin's cheek, and swiftly pushed the hood of his mantle back. It retreated as quickly and curled so that only his index finger remained stretched, pointing straight at Curufin's face. “I want one of your eyes. I would ask for both, but I know you would be lost without them.”

“My eye?”

“Yes, I told you I like its lustre, and it looks delicious to eat.”

Curufin's jaw clenched, a sickening dread coiling in his gut. He had the instinct to turn and flee from the knoll. His feet shifted nervously on the ground. His eyes darted left and right, but the cats were all still there. And Celegorm had always urged him to never turn from a wild animal if happened to encounter one face-to-face. 

“How can I be sure that you will help me if I...let you have one of my eyes?”

Tevildo gave one more of his enigmatic smiles. “If I had wanted to take it regardless, I could already have done so. I have no interest in wasting time playing with an Elf.”

Curufin hushed again, his mind in a turmoil. He didn't even know what Tevildo might be capable of. It would be a gamble. It could be a useless sacrifice, but so many sacrifices had already been made – so much had already been lost – and if there was a chance he could gain more power – a stronger ally – to defeat Morgoth, reclaim the Silmarils...

“Well?” Tevildo urged.

Curufin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it again and gulped his own spit down, swallowing fear alongside it. “I accept.”

Tevildo beamed. He took off his hat, throwing it carelessly towards some bushes. He seemed even taller without it, his hair tied in a curious knot on top of his head. 

“I will let you choose. Which one?”

Curufin lowered his head and looked at his feet, straining to decide which part of the image he now saw he was to lose. He hesitated. The light of the lamp bathed the ground. He wished that his father were still there, that he didn't feel so lost, so helpless, that he didn't have to make any such decision, because he had never needed anything more than his father's closeness to feel like he could have overcome any obstacle. 

“The right,” he said at last. Maedhros had lost his right hand, and it seemed appropriate that if he had to sacrifice one of his eyes, it should be the right. 

“Good,” Tevildo purred, and when Curufin raised his head again, he found him standing right before him. “Hold still.” 

The command was superfluous, because Tevildo's right hand clasped the side of his head, and held it in a secure grip. Curufin's heart lurched. Tevildo's left hand extended towards his eye, sharp claws protruding out of it. The claws sunk under Curufin's eyelids and a spike of pain burst through his head and the rest of his body, greater than any he had ever felt before, greater than when an orc-blade had cut his side open or when a Balrog had lashed at him with his firey whip. The claws pierced slowly through his flesh, severing muscles and nerves to wrap around his eyeball, then swiftly pulled it out. Curufin uttered a strangled wail and stood there, quaking in searing pain. The hollow cavity of his right eye burned, and he felt blood drip down his cheek. The forest swayed around him. 

In the haze of his pain he watched Tevildo bring his eyeball to his mouth and swallow it down. 

“As I expected,” Tevildo said, licking his lips with relish. “Utterly, marvellously delicious.” 

Curufin shook so much he could barely stand. Tevildo took hold of his arms guided him to sit on the boulder again. He crouched down in front of him. His hands reached for his face again, and Curufin hastily recoiled. But Tevildo just cupped his face gently, stuck his tongue out and licked his cheek clean of the blood and rent bits of skin. He kept lapping at it slowly, gently, until the pain gradually subsided, becoming a steady, almost loud, but overall bearable pulsing, and the flow of blood stopped. 

“There,” Tevildo said, licking his own lips again. “We are joined, now. I have a part of you in me. I will always be by your side.”

The prospect didn't sound particularly enticing to Curufin in his current state. His brow furrowed and hands gripped the flaps of his mantle convulsively. Tevildo put his fingers under his jaw and lifted his chin.

“You don't have to look so dismayed. This is an equitable bargain.”

“What-... _what_ will you do _for_ me?”

“I will watch over you. I will share some of my might with you. I will act on your behalf, when you most need it. Now sleep, sleep and regain your strength.”

*

“Curvo!”

Curufin's only eye fluttered open. For a moment he was alarmed that he couldn't see as much as he should have been able to, but the room was inundated with light, he was lying on a soft bed and he was warm. He blinked a few times. His wife's face took shape above him as the memories of what had transpired the previous night flooded his consciousness. Mineth stooped over him and gently brushed his hair. 

“Minyë,” he whispered, “how –”

“Tyelcormo brought you back,” she softly said.

“Tyelcormo?”

Mineth nodded towards the other side of the bed. Curufin couldn't see anything on that side, so he had to turn his head. His muscles were stiff, and he did it slowly. When Celegorm appeared in his restricted field of vision, his face was twisted with worry, and something very close to hurt. A myriad questions danced in his eyes, but he asked none of them, and so it was Curufin who spoke.

“How did you find me?”

Celegorm said nothing, but pointed to the chair next to the window. On it, curled up and asleep, was a black-and-red cat.

**Author's Note:**

> Tevildo should mean 'the hater' in Quenya. Both he and Thû (who was the first version of Sauron as lord of werewolves) don't have too much in common with the characters Tolkien created - I basically repurposed them as land spirits of sorts (in a proper pagan sense).


End file.
